I'm A Basket Case With A Poker Face
by memrylaine
Summary: A random, Faxy oneshot. pure humor-ish fluff. Max tries to cook breakfast. Obviously, it doesn't turn out like she though it would. Fax, all the way!


**hello, loves. **

**yes, yes, yes, i know. this is NOT my other story, Back to Work. it's just a random oneshot i've been working on for a while and i was wondering what you guys would think of it, so: here it is!**

**hope it doesn't suck too much. i was plagued with the fluff curse today and i just couldn't shake it. **

**yes, it is sappy.**

**yes, it is cheesy. **

**but bear with me, folks. every one needs their daily dose of cuteness. some more than others... :P**

**review, daaaahlings!!!!!!!!**

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"Hey, Fang!" I yelled. "Little help?"

He rounded the corner, and when he saw the predicament I was in, groaned and leaned back against the wall with a slightly amused expression on his face. "Oh, jeez. Max. I thought you had finally accepted the fact _that you can't cook."_

"Just help me get out of here," I snapped from my perch on the cupboard.

To answer any most likely embarrassing questions you may have, here is the reason why I was stuck on a cupboard with a pot of overflowing oatmeal and water covering almost everything in the kitchen with sticky goop. Ahem. First of all, let me just say, right off the bat, that this was not my fault. It was Iggy's. Why, you may ask? Well, because Iggy was the one who made me do it.

And plus, it's just fun to blame stuff on him.

That morning, when I was just starting to wake up, Iggy came into my room.

"Hey, Max," he muttered, his hair tousled from sleep. "I need you to make breakfast this morning."

At first I thought he was kidding. "Um, Ig? In case you've forgotten, here's a little memory-refresher: I can't cook. At all."

He rolled his sightless eyes sleepily in my direction. "Duh."

I threw my hands up in frustration. "Then what on earth possessed you to ask me to cook breakfast? Are you drunk? Or just insane?"

Iggy yawned. "Whatever. I'm going back to bed."

I groaned loudly. Grr. Stupid stubborn birdkid.

So, not wanting the kids to go hungry (trust me—you do NOT want to mess with 5 hungry birdkids in the morning if you value your life. Which I happen to), I stumbled into the kitchen, randomly grabbing a pot from the shelf, and snagged the box of instant oatmeal.

Okay, so how hard can this be? A little oatmeal, a little water, stir it all together, add some heat…Umm…boiling is a good sign…isn't it? Uh oh. Boiling over…not good, not good…

All of a sudden, the whole thing exploded in my face. Thanks to my chemically enhanced reflexes, I jumped out of the way just before a huge chunk of sticky goo shot out of the pot. Whew.

Then I looked around the kitchen. Everything (and yes, I do mean everything) was coated in a thick layer of sludge. Oh, crap. I started to bend down to grab a towel when another round of "shots" rang out, and more crud flew through the air, splattering against the cupboard, where my head would have been just a few seconds ago. Eww…

I groaned in frustration. Why me? Why?

The oatmeal, still hot from the pot, started burning my skin. I shrieked and dabbed at the gunk, wiping most of it off my skin. More muck flew from the pot and I jumped for the nearest object, which happened to bring the fridge.

As I got adjusted my position atop the large appliance, I assessed my predicament and considered my options like a rational person (yes, yes, which we all know quite well that I am not. Go ahead, pat yourself on the back. You know you want to).

1) I could run for it.

Nahh. I really don't feel like getting a full-body burn today, thanks for the offer, though.

2) I could fly.

Wait. Scratch that. The kitchen could only hold about 3 people at a time, so my wings wouldn't be able to open fully, rendering me flightless.

3) I could call for help.

Ugh. _So_ demoralizing.

Another glop of oatmeal shot through the air. _But a girl's gotta swallow her pride some time or another, right?_

Which brings us back to the present.

"Hmm." Fang pretended to brood, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "You know, it's quite tempting to leave you up there, seeing as this is extremely amusing."

I growled. "Fang, I swear, if you don't get me down from here somehow, I will bend you in half and beat you over the head with your belly button."

He smirked. "As appealing as that sounds, I think I'll pass."

I moaned. "Come ON, Fang."

He folded his arms across his broad chest. "What's the magic word?"

I glared at him. "You are SO not making me do this."

A smile flickered across his lips. "Oh, yes. I SO am. Watch and weep, Maximum."

He started to walk in an over-exaggerated manner, taking slow, long steps out of the kitchen. No! He couldn't leave me here! That would be cruel! And plus, I was NOT doing that. Never ever EVER. I mean, seriously. Fang isn't _that_ barbaric, is he?

Afore-mentioned birdkid took another giant step towards the door…

"Arghh! Fine!" I shrieked, then recited in a monotone voice the little ditty Nudge had made up on her spare time (I ask you this—who makes up _ditties_ on their _spare time?? _Apparently, Nudge does. I always knew there was something different about that girl...besides, you know, _the wings...)_

"Please, please, pretty please, lots of sugar, spice, and cheese. Gazzy's farts and a sneeze, cocka-doodle, lemon squeeze…" Please…just don't ask…

Fang grinned evilly. "Finish it…"

I glowered at him. "NO."

He started to leave and I cried, "Fine! I'm an insane psycho freak-freeze! Happy?!" Again. Don't ask.

He turned around and smirked at me. "Yes, we know, Max. But it's okay, the first step is admitting your problem."

I gave him the evil eye. "Just get me out of here."

He gave me a full, heart-stopping smile, and proceeded to do just that.

Stepping over small-mountain-sized lumps of crud, he said to me, "You're gonna have to find a way to repay me for this." The look he gave me sent shivers down my spine. _Wow… Time for a hormone check!_

I looked away self-consciously, fiddling with my wet shirt. "Uh, like what?"

Fang laughed, in his Fang-ish way, all soft and quiet and secretive. "Just be creative."

He finally reached the refridgerator, and looked up at me. I reached out my hand, and grasped his, stretching myself over the fridge. He rested one hand on my waist and my other arm went around his neck. I jumped, landing in his arms, so he was carrying me bridal-style.

I looked at him, my cheeks slightly flushed from our position, and he looked at me.

_Oh, my goodness…_

His eyes were mesmerizing, swirling pools of black that were dialed up to an intense gaze locking mine. Against my good will and all common sense, I started leaning closer, until our noses were just barely touching, never breaking eye contact. Fang finished the distance, his eyes slowly closing and I could see each individual eyelash. I found my eyes fluttering shut and tilted my head slightly automatically. Our lips had just brushed, when—

_Smack! _A huge glob of sludge hit me square in the face, splattering both me _and_ Fang in the process. I pulled away from Fang quickly in surprise, setting him off balance. He tried to backtrack, but slipped on some oatmeal, and collapsed, taking me down with him.

I honestly have to say, seeing the look on Fang's face when he fell was probably one of the most hilarious things I had ever seen in my life. I most likely would have laughed out loud, if I hadn't fallen too.

So now we were both splayed out on the kitchen floor, covered in wet, hot oatmeal crap, both too embarrassed by the previous events and the current situation we were in too look at each other (at least I was), and trying not to crack up laughing at each other.

I kept my eyes glued to the pot (a.k.a. the culprit that ultimately got me into this mess. Like I said before, none of this was my fault. I am only an innocent bystander. Who happened to not know how to make oatmeal. So sue me!) and tried my hardest to not look at Fang.

I felt his eyes on me, and I attempted to restrain myself from returning his gaze, but it was like his eyes were magnets, drawing me towards them. Dang it. I'm such a softie.

When I finally met his gaze, it took all my willpower to not burst out in peals of laughter. A thick glop of gunk stuck to his neck, and little blobs decorated his dark hair and the tanned skin of his face.

He very much resembled a wet, unhappy cat. When that image entered my mind, I couldn't help but cracking up.

"Does that stuff work as a hair gel? 'Cause your hair looks _fab_ulous," I said, choking on my laughter.

Fang glared at me. The cat image came back and I laughed even harder.

"Fang—I—you—" I couldn't speak coherently, and finally just gave up and collapsed in hysterics on the floor.

When I finally composed myself enough to look at Fang, my first thought was _run_. He had this evil gleam in his eye, that I had learned from previous experiences _always_ spelled trouble.

"Why, yes, Max," he said mischeviously. "It's really amazing what a little bit of this stuff can do. Why don't you try it?" I shrieked, realizing what he was going to do, and scrambled to get up from the floor. But I wasn't quick enough. Fang flung a handful of the gunk at me, and landed right on top of my head. Oh, that little…

"You asked for it, Fang!" I threw a glob of the junk at him and hit him smack in the face. Let's hear it for genetically-enhanced mutant skills, everybody!

He just grinned evilly at me and with out warning, tackled me to the ground and proceeded to tickle me.

"Wait—no—stop—please—too much—" I cried, between bursts of laughter.

He gave me the most magical smile (good grief. I'm starting to sound like a Disney princess) and, to my relief, stopped.

I took a few deep breaths, then grinned up at him. "You did the right thing, young jedi."

He rolled his eyes and pulled me up beside him. "I only stopped because you still have to do something."

Whaaa? "I do?"

He smirked. "You have to repay me for my chivalrous rescue."

I blushed, remembering the look he had given me before. "Uh…no I don't."

He leaned closer, his long hair falling into his eyes, and murmured, "Fine. I'll do it for you."

And then he kissed me. _Really_ kissed me. Right in the middle of the kitchen, covered in oatmeal, sopping wet, the smell of burning food wafting around the room, and all.

And it couldn't have been more perfect.

"Umm…Max?" A soft voice startled me and I jerked away from Fang. Angel was standing in the doorway, along with the rest of the flock. My cheeks started burning.

"Yes, Angel?"

She scrunched up her cute little nose. "Is that our breakfast?"

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**I**** dunno. I kinda liked it :D**

**and i liked how the kiss was so imperfect, yet so perfect at the same time.... sighhhh..........**

**sorry if you guys wanted a better description of the kiss. i have virgin lips, so i'm not gonna be much help when it comes to that! :D**

**i think it's really important when I (or any one, for that matter) am writing Fax, to remember that they are, ultimately, best friends. I mean, we KNOW that they WILL eventually become MORE than that. they already sort of have. But it is important to include that in fanfics. well. it is to me :)**

**i'm sooooo excited!!!!! MAX came out 2 days ago!!! my dad ordered it for me on amazon and its coming on like Friday and i'm soooo excited to read it!!!!!!!!!!! has any one else had the privilege of reading it?? i heard its reeeally good!!!**

**anywho...**

**review! i might continue, if enough people like it! but only after Back to Work is finished. probably. :]**

**over and under and inside and out!**

**:-:-:-:-:rylaine:-:-:-:-:**


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